Why I wasn't living my "dream life"

How my desire to progress held me back (and simultaneously didn't)

A live-action shot of me trying to progress.

I’ve been thinking for many months about whether we must, in order to live a good life, progress and move forward regularly.

After all, the couch is a lot more comfy, the shower a lot more warm, and the food a lot more scrumptious after a hard day’s work.

And though the spiritual side of me wants to believe that any compulsion for progress is compensation for some sense of un-wholeness within, I’m just not sure if I buy it.

I’m not saying the Buddha wasn’t onto something or that Alan Watts didn’t know what he was talking about, but I am saying that, at least right now, I’m in no place to give up on my dreams, relinquish all my worldly belongings, and live in a cabin out in the woods.

As much as the lows that are inevitable along this journey suck, they are well worth it, not only for the successes that lie on the other side but, more importantly, for who I become as a result of having overcome them.

And besides—before I could build my own cabin, I’d have to save up some money because the government would eventually come for their property taxes and cabin-in-the-woods registration fee.

You know, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I should shave my head and move to the Himalayas.

But I just can’t get over the fact that it seems impossible for anyone, especially in the United States, to circumnavigate the fact that it’s almost essential, in order to live a good life, to orient yourself towards something meaningful (and, yes, make money).

After all, we are biological beings; just as birds are compelled to build their nests, we are compelled to create what we envision.

Why I felt compelled to progress

I started writing this piece because I noted in one of my journals how frustrated I was, feeling like I wasn’t making worthy progress with my writing.

Many of my posts, I reluctantly realized, weren’t my best work since I was rushing to publish them as frequently as possible. I felt, as a result, like my Substack didn’t reflect the strength of my skillset and that I was, therefore, lagging in my journey . . . That I wasn’t progressing.

But then I wondered, why am I rushing to publish? How have I not, in all the hours I’ve written, managed to compile a portfolio of work I’m proud of?

On the surface, it seemed like the problem was that I wasn’t giving enough time each day to writing.

Then I dug a little deeper. Why am I not giving enough time to writing?

I commenced my way backward: I wasn’t writing enough because I wasn’t getting to the cafe (where I write) early enough to be able to dive deeply into my work before the day’s duties (like clipping my toenails and scratching my butt) took over.

And I wasn’t getting to the cafe early enough because I wasn’t waking up early enough, and I wasn’t waking up early enough because I wasn’t going to bed early enough, and I wasn’t going to bed early enough because I was letting myself indulge in distractions (YouTube, TV, etc., which kept me awake longer) before bed rather than reading a book and going to sleep early.

It seemed, from this delineation, like I wasn’t making sufficient progress with my writing because I was giving too much time and energy away to meaningless distractions.

But something still didn’t make sense.

If I was so set on being a writer—if I really was living a life I loved—why was I struggling to steer clear of these distractions? And why was I so desperate to progress? If I really loved what I was doing, shouldn’t I be enjoying the journey? Surely, I knew already that the grass isn’t greener on the other side, right?

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This was interesting . . . I seemed to be caught in a sort of existential hypocrisy.

The fact that I felt compelled to progress and preferred to indulge in distractions at night reflected one of two realities:

1. That for some reason, I didn’t appreciate my current reality as much as I thought I did

2. That I had fallen into a pleasure trap, failing to maintain the discipline needed to maintain a lifestyle I was deeply passionate about

The more I thought about it, the more it seemed like both of these factors were contributing to my frustration.

Getting in the way of myself

I wasn’t frustrated by my lack of progress. I was frustrated instead by (1) the fact that I was letting myself fall into distractions that took me away from what I most deeply wanted to do (for example, read books and wake up early) and (2) the fact that I felt like I needed to get somewhere (since I didn’t appreciate where I was).

In fact—and this was the most crucial realization—it was the fact that I felt the need to get somewhere (in other words, my desire to become a writer . . . to have a large readership, make a lot of money, etc.) that compelled me to engage in distractions.

You see, since I felt like I wasn’t yet living my “dream life,” I was more prone to engaging in distractions that took me away from my reality.

And so, the root of my problem wasn’t the fact that I wasn’t doing what I wanted to do with my life (even though I was falling into distractions, I was still, for example, writing, exercising, and hanging out with friends) but that I was living under the perception that I first needed to achieve these external ends before I could, in essence, enjoy my life and feel like I was living my dream life.

This perception, in turn, fueled my compulsion to engage in distractions, further distancing myself from my dream life (A.K.A., a daily lifestyle I look forward to), thereby further inflating the perception that I needed to get somewhere. It was a circular, self-fulfilling process.

By acknowledging that there was nowhere for me to go—that everything I was experiencing was a normal part of life (take a look at this brilliant essay by

Tommy Dixon

to get a better idea of what I mean)—and that I would not feel any different about life or myself just by reaping these outward successes I thought I needed (and even if I did, it would be a fleeting, potentially deceptive sensation), I was able to center myself in my journey.

What’s interesting is that I have acknowledged many times that the grass ain’t greener on the other side (I even made a podcast about it, linked above). But only this experience—or detailed thought experiment—seems to have actually reshaped my worldview. Perhaps, as is the case with most things in life, my newfound ability to embody what I had before outwardly acknowledged but failed to live by was supposed to be a gradual becoming . . . Perhaps my ability to acknowledge it outwardly catalyzed my eventual ability to live by it inwardly.

Whatever the case, the point is not that I was frustrated by my lack of progress but that my compulsion for progress impelled me to subconsciously believe the grass was greener on the other side and, subsequently, to engage in self-destructive behaviors instead of daily habits I found fulfilling.

And so, I realized that my question—whether it was necessary to move forward regularly in order to live a good life—was simply the wrong question to be asking.

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The question I needed to be asking was, in what way am I not living my days as well as I want to right now?

Only by realizing this—that the change I needed was internal (within my control) rather than external (not within my control)—was I able to break free of the mental chains holding me back . . . What I thought was an itch to move forward and grab onto something outside of myself was actually an itch to move away from distractions and closer to myself and the things I most deeply wanted to do each and every day.

How my compulsion for progress held me back

Now, even though my desire for progress undermined my ability to “live my dream life,” that doesn’t mean that moving forward is inherently unhealthy.

In fact, a life without growth can be quite dreary and sullen.

Humans are, as I said, designed to create what we envision. And, in many ways, we are designed to progress. In the environments we were designed to operate, a compulsion for progress kept us alive and helped us thrive.

Only when we attach our self-efficacy to things outside of our control does our deeply-rooted compulsion for progress become unhealthy.